A Door, Locked
by hadaka
Summary: He couldn't remember seeing Kongo-san in this neighborhood before.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Do. Not. Own.

**Warning:** Spoilers for entire series. Also, **yaoi**.

**Summary:** He couldn't remember seeing Kongo-san in this neighborhood before.

* * *

"Sena, carry these, please," his mother was saying. She was holding out a white shopping bag from the department store they had just left.

"Here," Sena said, and was taking it out of her hands when he looked up and saw Kongo Agon standing outside of a karaoke bar.

The shopping bag nearly slipped from his hand.

The street was crowded, seven o'clock on a cold Wednesday. Sena was loaded down with several things his mother had handed to him from the three department stores they had already been to, and was trying to keep up as she looked for the brand of shirts his father liked.

"I just don't know, Sena," she said. The tone was somewhere between distracted and worried. "I don't know if your father and I should be going on a trip right now, especially this time of year—"

"N-no, Mom," said Sena, trying to keep his eyes forward. "You don't have to worry about me, it's only a week—"

He tried not to look again. If there was _one_ person in the world that Sena didn't want seeing him out shopping with his mother, it had to be somebody like Kongo Agon.

So of course he couldn't help that second, curious glance, both reluctant and helpless, over his shoulder.

Kongo-san was looking at him.

Sena's eyes widened. He knew he should look away, maybe after politely inclining his head, but, as if being caught looking was something like being _caught_, he stood there in place, his arms full of his mother's shopping, in a winter coat still slightly too big for him.

Kongo Agon looked—like he always did. Dreadlocks, clothes too loose, the _biboi_ look that Sena's mother found so distasteful. He stood in front of the karaoke bar as if he'd been about to go in, the lights of the neon sign glinting off of the chain around his neck and the shades over his eyes.

There was a girl with him. Sena's eyes almost simply moved over her, as if _the girl with Kongo Agon_ was something a girl just _was_, that required no other particulars—except then he hesitated, checked to see if his mother was still in hearing distance, and then looked again.

A shorter girl, this one, shorter than any of the other girls Sena had seen with Kongo-san in the few times their general areas had happened to include each other. Slighter, too, almost lean, not the look Sena had begun to associate with girls who went with Kongo Agon. Cute, not glamorous, natural-looking, with good skin and cutting edge clothes—

Brown hair. Cut in a tousled mop, the bangs almost pointed. Short, nothing below the chin.

"_Ne_, Agon," Sena could hear the girl saying, "I thought we were going to a—"

Kongo-san ignored her. He was still looking at Sena, almost staring at him from across the street and through a screen of passing people. The expression on his face was—

"Sena," his mother called, "Sena, over here."

"Coming," called Sena hastily, and turned back, hurrying to catch up.

He felt those eyes, their peculiar weight, on the back of his head, all the way into the next store.

"It's so far away," his mother was saying, looking through a stack of men's shirts. "What if there's an emergency? We couldn't be back in a hurry—or what if—"

"Mom, it'll be all right." Sena tried to look impatient in a manly sort of way. "How often does Dad get time off? Just go to the resort. I'll spend all my time at school anyway, and Mamo-nee will look in on me."

That girl with Kongo-san had looked so...familiar. Had he seen her somewhere? Did she go to Deimon? Or maybe she'd been at one of the matches. Sena felt as if he'd seen her before, or at least someone who looked like her, but couldn't think where or who. Something about her bothered him, some nagging sense that he was missing something important.

He couldn't remember seeing Kongo-san in this neighborhood before.

She'd had dark eyes, that girl, a soft dark that reflected the store lights and signs in yellow.

Sena shook his head, tried to put the chance encounter out of his mind, to pay attention to his mother while she fretted over the coming trip, and didn't know why he should feel so cold even indoors, under his big winter coat, or why a vague, indistinct sense of uneasiness seemed to cling to him, a feeling that he couldn't really name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Do. Not. Own.

**Warning:** Spoilers for entire series. Also, **yaoi**.

* * *

The day after that, Sena came home late.

Practice had been—exhausting. With the Dinosaurs match around the corner, Hiruma was driving everyone to the breaking point. And there was a certain tension, too, especially after that meeting with the manager of the Dinosaurs. He couldn't say that it was worry—after all, if _Hiruma_ couldn't take care of himself, the rest of them were done for—but he couldn't say that it _wasn't_ worry either. Even Mamo-nee looked concerned, these days, and Kurita-san had been looking nervous for a week.

The light at the front door was still on, though the house was dark. His mother and father were probably in bed, his mother lying there drowsing until she heard Sena come in. He'd called ahead to tell her he'd be in late, and she'd reminded him to turn off the kitchen light. Sena wondered if this was what it felt like to be a university student living at home, keeping late hours and being reminded to turn things off.

Sena was at the gate, lifting the latch, when he looked up to see Kongo Agon.

He nearly cried out in shock. Instead, his mouth only opened, and he stood there gaping at the tall figure walking toward him, in and out of the yellow streetlights.

"Kongo-san?" he said, a bit too loudly for that quiet street, and hated himself a little for the tremble in his voice.

Under his coat sleeves, Sena's hands had gone stiff and cold.

Kongo-san looked the same as he had the previous day. He was wearing his shades, though it was night, and he was alone. He walked slowly, deliberately, somewhat stiffly—was he drunk? _Kongo Agon_, drunk and wandering down Sena's neighborhood? Sena lived in residential area, nowhere near downtown or any clubs, bars, or wherever people like Kongo Agon spent their time. There wasn't even a _terminal_ anywhere near.

Kongo-san was still wearing the same clothes as the night before.

Sena's hand was still on the gate, which was open now. He tried to breathe. Pathetic to be so afraid, right there in front of his house with his parents practically a wall away. Even if Kongo-san really was there for him—even if Kongo-san was coming at him now with every intention of breaking Sena's legs—and people didn't _do_ that, not even people like Kongo Agon, things like that didn't happen at ten o'clock at night right in front of your own house, this wasn't a TV show or a movie—

Sena tensed, a breath away from throwing open the gate and rushing for the front door, and Kongo-san stopped.

Just more than an arm's length away, he stopped, his back to then nearest light, and stood there looking at Sena.

Somewhere close, a dog barked.

Sena was trying to breathe. Kongo-san, here, in front of his house, at ten o'clock at night, with no reason Sena could think of for him to be there other than—

"Kongo-san?" he said, then—questioningly, only slightly uncertainly. Sena tried to talk casually, normally, as he were only caught off guard by the unexpected appearance of someone he vaguely knew and not _terrified_. "A-are you all right?"

He couldn't see Kongo-san's face, which made the whole thing worse. Kongo-san was just a tall, faceless shape in front of him, and Sena was, for no reason he could see, thinking of the girl he'd seen with Kongo Agon the night before, the short girl with dark hair and dark eyes.

"Are you all right, Kongo-san?" he asked again, in almost a whisper.

No answer. He was so _big_, standing there, even bigger than Jyuumonji or Toganou or Kuroki, maybe bigger than Musashi. The streetlight was a yellow glare just over Kongo-san's head, which left Sena's eyes flinching away. Drunk, Kongo-san had to be drunk, even if high schoolers weren't supposed to drink, and Sena couldn't decide if the proper thing to do here would be to offer to call Kongo-san a taxi or—

Sena didn't see Kongo-san move. He didn't see the hand come toward his face, didn't even understand the sudden, hot surge of adrenaline until the back of his head hit the wall and the hand—fingers and thumb in a steel grip—caught his neck and jaw, shoving him back. The strap of his bag slipped from his hand and Sena made a high, sharp noise in the back of his throat at the palm pressing against his throat.

Kongo Agon leaned over him.

Sena gasped for air, both hands pulling uselessly at Kongo-san's one, and his wide eyes met the smooth surface of Agon's shades.

_"Haaa,"_ was the sound that came from Kongo-san's mouth, not quite speech, not a sigh.

Kongo-san's breath smelled of alcohol. From his clothes came the faint scent of a girl's perfume.

Sena knew this feeling. He'd felt it a hundred times before, at school, on the street. He was shaking with it, with the familiar expectation of violence, and it was as if nothing had changed at all in the past six months. This wasn't _amefuto_. This was just pain, for no reason other than he was smaller and weaker and had, this time, been unable to get away, had been _stupid_ enough to think that this kind of thing was over and done with.

He didn't want to cry. But he couldn't help the tears that filled his eyes.

_Nothing_ was different.

Kongo-san's face was so close. He'd stopped moving again, was just hanging over Sena, his face angled down into Sena's face, eyes concealed by the shades.

He was so very, very close.

"Please," Sena choked out. How badly would Agon hurt him? Would he still be able to go to practice in the morning? Could he shout for his parents, or would Agon choke him? "Kongo-san—please—"

Sena closed his eyes, shut them tight, but tears were escaping at the corners of his eyes and he waited for the first blow.

The hand left his neck.

Sena dropped to the ground, sucking in lungfuls of air, as if he'd been drowning.

_"Trash,"_ he heard above him, in a low, contemptuous voice.

Sena lifted his head, looked up through the tears burning his eyes.

Kongo Agon was walking away, back the way he had come. He moved efficiently, purposefully, not at all as if he were drunk.

Behind Sena, a light came on in the house.

"Sena?" someone called, a woman's voice—his mother. "Sena, is that you?"

Kongo-san was already down the street, turning a corner—he was gone. Sena's pulse was racing. He didn't understand what had just happened, didn't understand why Kongo-san would—would _grab_ him by the neck, and then just walk away, why he would make such a threat and then just—not go through. He didn't—why would—what was—

He dragged a sleeve over his eyes.

"It's just me, Mom," he called back. His voice came out too hoarse, and he cleared it. "It's just me."

When Sena managed to get to his feet, he was still shaking, and had to wait another minute before picking up his bag and going in.


End file.
